For we will surely die and are like water spilled on the ground
Which cannot be gathered up again
Yet the Lord does not take away life
But plans a way so that the banished will not be cast out from him
[II Samuel 14:14]
My salvation was so near
But it does not assuage my paralyzing fear
That trench was to be my astral womb
For God knows it was nearly my tomb
I prayed, I prayed
Bury me at Ypres
With a coffin made of mud
In full battle array
I pray, I pray
To Saint Cocaine
I wait, I wait
For virgin white embrace
I am brought back from the dead
To live again amongst the well fed
Bid to forget the hell
The Hell that I learned to love so well
Death's wail
Haunting Paschiondale
With an elixir mostly of blood
This magic shall not fail
I pray, I pray, and I pray
To Saint Leda Cocaine
I wait, I wait, and I wait
For her swanlike embrace
A long march toward a certain death
What doesn't kill me only feeds my paranoia
